They ate in silence at first, the three of them clustered around the small table in the rented flat. The city outside hummed with a nervous energy that seeped through the thin walls—news, rumors, panic.

  Evan pushed his bowl aside and said what they were all thinking. “Everything changed so fast. We didn’t even have time to leave before the storm hit.”

  Only yesterday the slaughter in the Blackrock Mountains had been a rumor; by afternoon it had become a tidal wave. Videos, eyewitness accounts, and speculation spread like wildfire. The word corrupted was on everyone’s lips. The stench, the madness, the Saint?tier—each new detail fed the public’s fear and forced both the Muke Republic and the Rovan Federation into action.

  “This doesn’t feel organic,” Yvonne said, voice low and bitter. “Someone’s pushing this. Someone wants the panic.”

  Wendy tapped her phone and scrolled. “Look at this.” She turned the screen so Evan could see a headline:

  Thousands Flock to Evolutionary Temples as Citizens Pray for Protection

  The article was full of photos—tattered clothes, hollow faces, hands clutching coins. The captions framed the outbreak of fear as a sign of divine displeasure, a curse from the so?called Evolution God.

  Evan frowned. “You think the church is stoking this?”

  Yvonne snorted. “Who else? Those people who make a living pretending to be prophets. The Evolutionary Church.”

  The name landed in the room like a stone.

  The Evolutionary Church—the only officially sanctioned religion on the Linhua Continent—had long been a fixture in Rovan. In five of the six nations it was tolerated: allowed to preach, ignored by policy. Only Rovan had embraced it as a tool of social control. Where poverty and despair were deepest, the church’s temples rose tallest. When people had nothing left, faith became currency—and the church accepted donations.

  Wendy’s voice was flat. “The posts online keep using the same language: ‘the stench is the Evolution God’s curse,’ ‘the corrupted are cast out.’ That’s not grassroots panic. That’s a narrative.”

  “Why would they do that?” Evan asked.

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  “Fear sells devotion,” Wendy said. “When people panic, they give. The church profits from offerings, and the more terrified the crowd, the more they give.”

  Yvonne’s jaw tightened. “We should leave today. The longer we stay, the more dangerous it becomes. People are fleeing the city; we can blend in with them.”

  Wendy shook her head. “Yvonne, your wounds still need rest. I think staying in Monka is safer for now. If Rovan sends Saint?tier forces, their presence could actually protect us.”

  Evan and Yvonne exchanged looks. The logic was sound: if Rovan’s Saint?tier troops were stationed in Monka, both Filthsoil and Gu’an would be more cautious. But the thought of waiting while a mad Saint?tier roamed the mountains made Evan restless.

  At that moment all three phones chimed at once. Evan checked his—an urgent headline had been pushed to his feed:

  General Yeh Muni and the Lion Guard Arrive in Monka City Overnight

  “Rovan’s Saint?tier has arrived,” Wendy said.

  Evan’s face went pale. “How many General Yeh Munis are there?”

  Wendy blinked. “I only know one. He’s a newly ascended Saint—just completed his fourth evolution. A career military man, very influential.”

  Evan swallowed. “Elias Zhao has a long?time friend named Yeh Muni. He told me—before everything—if I ever went to Rovan, to find General Yeh Muni.”

  Wendy’s chair scraped as she stood. “Pack. Now. If Yeh Muni is here, we might still get out.”

  They moved with the speed of people who had rehearsed escape in their heads a dozen times. Bags were thrown together, documents gathered. They were almost out the door when the city’s checkpoints stopped them.

  Roads out of Monka had been sealed. Identity checks at every exit. No one left without papers. Evan, Wendy, and Yvonne had no official ID in hand—Evan’s Eastern Dawn card would only be issued once he reached the country. They were turned back.

  Trapped.

  Evan’s stomach dropped. The timing was too neat. General Yeh Muni’s arrival, the sudden lockdown—this was not coincidence. The name of Elias Zhao echoed in his mind like a warning.

  “Now we wait and see,” Yvonne said, trying to sound braver than she felt. “Give me eight, maybe ten days. I’ll be ready to lead a breakout.”

  Evan wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe they could slip through the cordon before someone with power decided to make Monka a cage. But he also knew the other side had resources—political friends, military friends, and a man who had already shown he could pull strings across borders.

  Across the sea of headlines and the clamor of frightened citizens, a quieter game was being played: Zhao’s reach, Yeh Muni’s orders, the church’s sermons. Monka City had become a chessboard, and they were pawns in a match whose players were far more dangerous than any madman in the mountains.

  They returned to the flat and sat down, the three of them small and stubborn in the middle of a city that had decided to lock its doors.

  When nations panic, the powerful move their pieces.

  And sometimes the most dangerous battlefield is a city pretending to be calm.